


Next

by rebelxxwaltz



Series: Arizona [2]
Category: Longmire (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe, F/M, Light Angst, Mild Sexual Content, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 09:25:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3686994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelxxwaltz/pseuds/rebelxxwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their night of stolen passion in Arizona has far-reaching consequences. Sequel to 'One.' Slightly AU, Walt/Vic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next

**Author's Note:**

> This sequel to 'One' was bound to happen, but appeared far sooner than planned! This has turned into a small series, as there will be at least one more story connected to this slightly altered universe... there was a lot to think about when considering the aftermath of the original fic. This bit of the story picks up a week after the events from 'One,' during the Miss Cheyenne episode.

The next time he touched her after that was an accident— at least, it started out that way. Didn't it always?

"I got a pretty good idea what they were doing out here. This property's been abandoned for decades. Become a popular destination for teenage couples."

"How romantic."

Sarcasm was a staple with his deputy, Walt was extremely conscious of that fact. Most of the time it was just pure Philadelphia attitude, swooping out into the Wyoming air like a bird of prey on wing. Other times, though, he was sure she employed it to gloss over nervousness or avoid an uncomfortable situation.

Briefly, he wondered whether Vic was just as aware as he was of the fact that this was the first time they'd truly been alone together since returning from Arizona. Their first time alone after a forbidden night of passion in a run-down motel, and the crime scene just had to be what most people of his generation would essentially classify as 'lover's lane.'

Walt had been momentarily thrown by the sight of the victim, busted out of his more immediate personal concerns and brought back to a place he really didn't want to be as his eyes slowly surveyed the wounds that had been unapologetically stabbed into Ben Mallory's body.

It was a sad truth of his profession that after decades of dealing with corpses on a regular basis it was easy to become desensitized, to view the evidence of extinguished human life dispassionately. The momentary loss of composure was an unpleasant surprise, a sudden lump rising in Walt's throat as he thought of Denver, of Martha and Miller Beck and every other secret he had swallowed down for so long.

"Sorry, did you know him or something?" Vic could read him well enough to pick up on his unease, but he wasn't about to drag her down with him.

"No." Walt shook his head, forcing the darkness back to its home in the corner of his mind. "No, stabbing's just a bad way to go."

They made their plan of attack, and after loading Dr. Mallory into the back of the Bronco they returned to the barn to gather the remaining evidence and make sure they hadn't missed any clues. Vic was walking in front of him, right along the back edge of the building where late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the dilapidated wooden slats and cast a warm glow onto her golden hair. Most of the 'evidence' they encountered hinted at the countless romantic liaisons that had been hosted by the structure; half-melted candles, empty alcohol receptacles, discarded condom wrappers.

Drinking in the measured movements of Vic's lithe body just a few feet away made Walt feel like some amalgamation of a horny teenager and a dirty old man, imagination and sense memory leading him down pathways he had no business wandering along. Then, the object of his inappropriate thoughts tripped on a nail or the warped edge of a floorboard, and his hands shot out to steady her before she fell.

His fingers splayed at her hip, other hand shooting around to brace her ribcage beneath her unzipped jacket. Vic righted herself, and that should have been the end of it. If they'd both just ignored it, it would have been fine— but they didn't, and it wasn't. She leaned back against him, the top of her shoulders against his chest and her head nestling in to the hollow near where his collarbone met his neck.

Walt tried and failed not to think about how perfectly they fit, in this and every other conceivable way. He also tried in vain to remove his hands from her body, but she quickly covered them with her own and pulled them tighter around her and something that had started out totally innocent was suddenly skirting around the edges of utmost wickedness.

"Vic—"

She turned her face upward, into the side of his neck, lips brushing against skin as he stared resolutely forward.

"Shhh, there's nobody else here. Don't say anything, just—"

For a moment there was a definite question of who was the sheriff in this particular arena, as Walt allowed Vic to guide his hands to where she wanted to be touched. At her urging one hand slid up to rest just below her breasts and the other trailed down until his fingers teased at the belt line of her tight, low-slung jeans. She leaned her temple against the edge of his jaw, exhaling unsteadily. Walt could feel himself giving in, clutching Vic's body firmly against him and bunching the fabric of her shirt beneath his traitorously compliant hands.

It had been one week since their torrid encounter in Arizona. One week of sleepless nights, stolen glances, and lying to himself about concepts like will power and his obligation to do the 'right thing.' One week of reminding himself that they'd agreed on just one night, and trying to ignore the fact that she was constantly looking at him out of the corner of her eye with exactly the same degree of longing that he felt straight down to his frustrated bones. Ignoring these problems, both in the here and now and in the grander scheme of things, seemed to Walt like an increasingly ineffective method of making them go away.

"I keep thinking about it," she breathed. He peeked down, saw that her eyes had drifted shut and her lips were slightly parted.

Walt knew he shouldn't ask, that he should take her original advice and say nothing at all until the moment had simply passed. He knew what she was thinking about, too, but he responded anyway. "About what?"

He could feel the pace of Vic's breathing increase, chest rising and falling above his gently clasping hand.

"How good you felt inside me."

Fingertips dipping into the warm, inviting space just behind the overlapping loops of her belt, Walt pressed the bridge of his nose to the side of Vic's head and inhaled the familiar but undeniably arousing scent of her hair. His lips were against the shell of her ear. "We need to forget it ever happened."

Tightening her grip on his wrists, Vic shivered. "Is that what you're doing? Forgetting?" In an act of blatant defiance she pushed her hips up and back, shamelessly rubbing against the bulge in his pants and leaving Walt in no doubt that she knew they were in the same boat— confused, hopelessly turned on, unsure of what to do next.

He leaned his head down a bit further. "I'm trying to."

"I don't think I can."

"We haven't got a choice."

"There's  _always_  a choice, Walt."

Before he could argue back Vic turned in his arms, placing her hands against his chest. His arms were still wrapped around her, one at the curve of her hip and the other in the middle of her back. Her eyes, a bright honey color in the persistent sunlight, challenged his own. That burning gaze flickered momentarily down to his lips, then up to his eyes again.

It was hard to say whether she was giving him an order or asking him a question. "Kiss me."

Tugging at the back of her belt, he pulled her rapidly encroaching form just slightly away, giving his choked and starving body a sliver of cool air to breathe in the face of all that heat. "No."

"Why not?"

_Because it wouldn't end there,_ he thought to himself. It would start as a kiss and end with him tasting every inch of her, reclaiming the sweet salt of her skin and performing an entire encyclopedia of acts he had promised himself he wouldn't.

The top half of Vic's body leaned into him, lips sliding over his stubbled cheek in their slow but determined quest to capture his own. He drew back slightly, gripping her chin with one of his hands. The skin of her face and her softly blushing features looked so delicate in contrast with his work-worn fingers. Walt loved the way it felt, resolve just barely holding fast in the face of such unrestrained temptation.

Walt's voice, when it finally came, sounded rough even to his own ears. "Because if I start kissing you, I won't be able to stop."

With a supreme effort of will, Walt disengaged from the embrace. For several long moments they simply stared at each other. Vic was hugging herself with one arm, the other slowly rising from her side to press quivering fingertips against her mouth like she was experiencing the ghostly memory of the things his lips had once done. Walt rubbed the back of his neck absently, wishing for his obvious and stubborn erection to subside and lend some degree of legitimacy to the half-hearted refusal he had just tendered.

Walt wanted to drag Vic back into his arms, say everything was going to be alright, swear that they would get through this, all things he desperately wanted to believe. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked out of the barn. Discretion was the better part of valor, at least that's what he told himself. It was certainly easier than owning up to abject cowardice— never mind the fact that he only remembered to start breathing again once the keys were in the ignition and his tires were kicking up dust on an already windy day. There were clouds on the far horizon, and Walt could taste a storm rolling in on the breeze.

**xxxxx**

A few days later, Sean Keegan showed up in his office. In a sense it was unexpected, but in retrospect Walt knew that he really should have seen it coming.

He tried to bluster his way through it, falling back on his habitual air of authority like a crutch. "You really shouldn't use that door. It's private."

"Yeah I know. This  _is_  private."

Sean had never struck him as a tough sort of guy, but there was a hint of steel behind his words. Walt was concerned that this conversation was going to take a turn for the worse very quickly, but the topic suddenly veered off into left field.

"I understand if I want to get a restraining order against someone, I need to talk to you."

Wrong footed, Walt scrunched his eyebrows and exhaled slowly. "Who do you need a restraining order for?"

"You know, I'm not sure yet."

The manila envelope landed on the desk in front of him. Walt hadn't even noticed Sean had been carrying it with him, the younger man's name scrawled casually across the front in nondescript handwriting. He picked it up, glancing over at Sean to confirm he had the other man's permission to view the contents. Sean inclined his head, waiting.

Inside the envelope were two photographs.  _Arizona._ His stomach flipped. The first photo depicted himself and Vic, standing outside the motel room in the orange glow from the outmoded exterior lighting. Walt remembered his fumbling with the keycard, a combination of technological unfamiliarity and old-fashioned nervousness in the face of the situation. Her smile had burned up his insides even then, but the stark sight of her eyes sparkling over at him with unfiltered adoration on the surface of the high quality photo paper was almost too much to take. Walt studied the image for a long moment, trying to buy time to school his features.

"Not gonna say anything?" Walt wasn't sure if Sean had seen right through him, or was fishing for more of a reaction. "Oh that's right. You're not much of a talker."

Walt raised an eyebrow. "It's a couple of weeks back. We were in Arizona, on a case. I assume Vic told you about that."

"She told me about the case. Aren't you gonna look at the other picture?"

He wasn't sure he wanted to, but thought he had best comply. Flipping to the second photograph, Walt was greeted with the image of himself and Vic emerging from the same motel room in the grey light of early morning.

All he could think of when he looked at it was that he had been kissing her less than thirty seconds before this picture had been taken. On the surface it was not a quintessential morning after scene, but the signs were there if you knew what to look for— if you took the time to wonder or suspect what they had been doing.

The jaw of the sheriff in the photo was set hard, one hand clenched into a fist at his side. Vic was just in front of him, slightly to his right. His free hand was resting low in the center of her back, guiding her out the door and onto the weathered pavement of the walkway. A few strands of hair had blown into her face, drawing attention to the flushed skin of her cheeks. Her head was tilted sideways, eyes directed over her shoulder and locked onto Walt's intent gaze in a crackling exchange of non-verbal communication.

As for Sean's perception, the other man had no way of knowing. No way to be certain, to realize the truth of what Walt had spent long, sensual hours doing with his wife in that motel room. Still, he didn't seem willing to let it slide.

"So tell me, sheriff— have budget cuts gotten so bad that the county can't even afford two cheap ass motel rooms? I understand the concept of austerity but this seems like a step too far don't you think?"

Clearing his throat Walt managed to dredge up a reserve of self-respect, indignant at the idea that Sean would assume him capable of abusing his position in such an unscrupulous way. "The motel was undergoing renovations and there was a rodeo in town three miles down the road. It was the only room we could get on such short notice."

"Right. So I take it you enjoyed your little sleepover with my wife, then?"

Refusing to take the bait, Walt deflected. "What did Vic say about the photos?" He flipped them over in his hands, noticing the number '32' scrawled on the back of the second photograph. "Did she know what this means?"

Sean seemed to deflate for a moment. "I— I haven't talked to her about it yet. It'll just lead to an argument, like everything does. She'd probably think I had someone following her."

"Did you?" The question was out before Walt even had a chance to think it over, and he couldn't blame Sean for bristling at his interrogative tone.

"No."

"Who do you think took the photos?"

"Ed Gorski."

It was a name he hadn't expected to hear, and Walt's eyes snapped up to lock with Sean's. He didn't like the idea of Gorski still being on the scene, not one bit. Sean seemed a bit annoyed by Walt's clear cut recognition of the name.

"I gather you know about Ed Gorski. So maybe you can understand why I'd be a little sensitive about Vic's relationships with her superior officers."

Walt was overtaken with a powerful cocktail of dread and curiosity, wondering not for the first time exactly what type of woman Sean thought he was married to. How could this man protect Vic if he didn't communicate with her? Without a true partnership, where did they find trust? Did he really know what it took to love her?

The ever-present guilt surged back with a vengeance alongside Walt's realization that he thought he could do it better— all of it. Protect her, love her, build that bedrock of trust. And yet, he had no claim on her, no license to pass judgement. That privilege belonged to Sean, and the only way Walt could do right by Vic was to distance himself completely.

"The way I see it, that's between you and Vic."

Sean gave a short, humorless chuckle. "Yeah? Well from where I'm standing,  _you_ _'_ _re_  what's getting between us. Gorski I can handle— at least he doesn't try to pull this fake righteousness bullshit."

"I'm not sure what you want me to do here, Sean."

"What  _I_  want you to do? I want you to stay the hell away from my wife, for starters. But for now I guess I'll just have to settle for the restraining order on Gorski, since there's probably some kind of law that says you can't draw one up against yourself."

With that Vic's husband took his leave, the slamming of Walt's private door echoing in his wake.

Walt slumped into the chair behind his desk, suddenly finding ample time and space for the shame he had avoided since that night with Vic at the motel and their moment of indiscretion in the deserted barn. He leaned his forehead against his palm, playing back everything from the first improper thought he'd ever had about his deputy right up to the savage and unbridled pleasure of burying himself within her tight, welcoming heat over and over again.

He'd gotten himself in deep, and he wasn't sure if there was a way out that didn't involve a broken heart, a broken jaw, or likely both. Possibly not only for himself. The worst part, though? He hadn't even been man enough to accept responsibility for his own actions just now, hadn't provided any assurances regarding the probity of his intentions. At least Sean had shown enough guts to call him out, and what had Walt done? Thrown it all back on Vic, tried to take himself out of the equation in spite of the fact that he was the biggest variable. He'd left her holding the bag, plain and simple.

Things had already been tense with Vic ever since he'd fled from their encounter at the crime scene last week, and if she hadn't given up on him already after the awkward silences that had followed she almost surely would now. Perhaps it was for the best; this entire situation was rapidly spiraling out of control, to the point where it was almost impossible for Walt not to surrender to his libidinous impulses when Vic looked at him with such unambiguous hunger.

It had been more than just a wake-up call with Sean today and Walt knew that if the other man hadn't had overriding concerns about his wife's safety, the confrontation would have taken a far more serious turn. As it was, he realized that the next time he looked at Vic and thought those thoughts, he would have to tamp them down. Affectionate musings, parcels of desire, fantasies of togetherness— the next time he faced the temptation to let her under his guard there would be no option but to keep his defenses firmly in place.

Of course, after Vic found out about the chat he'd just had with her husband, there might never  _be_  a next time…

**Author's Note:**

> Sigh. Walt, Walt, what are we gonna do with you? Needless to say, the deeper I dug into this scenario the more questions I ended up with. There will be at least one more story in this series, appearing at an undetermined time.
> 
> Would love to hear your thoughts on these developments! Drop me a line and let me know what you think would happen next... what would Vic make of the whole situation, for example? Reviews will net a wealth of Easter candy and possibly a share of the cheap Champagne... Happy Easter! :)


End file.
